In Defence of the Em Dash (and Other Things AI Didn’t Invent)

Recently, I saw someone online claim that the em dash is a sign of AI-generated writing. Not just one person either—this ridiculous idea is spreading. I’ve seen it repeated in threads, blogs, and even by writers who’ve started second-guessing their own punctuation. Some have said they’ve stopped using em dashes altogether, just to avoid being burned at the algorithmic stake.

Let that sink in: writers giving up a perfectly valid tool—not because it’s bad, not because it weakens their work—but because some corner of the internet decided punctuation now has a moral alignment system.

As a writer, that’s not just irritating. It’s absurd.

Let me say it plainly:
The em dash. That beautiful, versatile line—used by writers for centuries—is now apparently suspicious.

Which is… ridiculous.
The em dash isn’t a sign of AI. It’s a sign of Jedi-level grammar.

Writers love the em dash for good reason. It cuts in like a sharp breath. It interrupts. It pivots. It adds emphasis, surprise, rhythm—or just a little space to think. It’s less formal than a colon, more assertive than a comma, and nowhere near as smug as a semicolon.

George Orwell used it. Emily Dickinson used it obsessively. Cormac McCarthy used it sparingly—he avoided most punctuation, including quotation marks and semicolons—but that’s the point: every writer develops their own style. That’s the art of it.

One of my favourite uses of the em dash comes from 1984:

“If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face—for ever.”

That’s not an AI hallucination. That’s Orwell twisting the knife. You can hear the pause—the finality of it. That em dash earns its keep.

Look, I get it. AI is everywhere, and it’s hard to tell what’s real sometimes. But punctuation? That’s not the line in the sand. If I write a sentence that sounds like me and feels like me, but it has an em dash in it—that’s still me.

I use em dashes regularly—in my writing, in my social posts, even in my handwritten scrawls—and I have absolutely no fear in doing so.
(That’s a choice, by the way—not a warning sign.)

Quick sidetrack before we wrap this up—let's clear up the dash situation. The hyphen is the little one you see in words like well-written or six-year-old. Then there’s the en dash—a bit longer—and it pops up when you’re writing things like pages 10–15 or Scotland–England rivalry. And finally, the em dash—the star of this rant. It’s the long one, the dramatic one, the interrupter of thoughts and the emphasiser of moments. They each have their job. And just to be clear: using an em dash properly doesn’t mean a bot wrote your book.

So here’s the takeaway: trust the voice, not the punctuation. And if anyone tells you there’s a “correct” way to write dialogue, or horror, or grammar—run. Run like a character in a foggy forest with something following just out of frame.

Write how you write.
Let your commas breathe.
And for goodness’ sake, let the em dash live.

Yeah, I know—I’ve used an excessive amount of em dashes in this ranty post.